Tell me the way home,
where the roads were so familiar that they knew your deepest thoughts and darkest secrets
where the buds of romance were crushed softly before it blossomed
where we built our chimerical future with unbridled hopes and aspirations, unbeknownst of their imminent failures.
Tell me the way home,
where we would hang out in street as imbecile loafers and other times as holistic thinkers tackling world’s most bewildering mysteries
where we were first had our lapse of judgement and succumbed to temptations and other times, we resisted with unflinching and unshakable resolve.
where we felt magnanimous in spite of our ineptitude,  
where we felt illustrious even with our lackluster lives
Tell me the way home,
where there was never a dearth of persiflage and lampoonist sense of humor quickly followed by inundation of camaraderie
where we fiercely fought for the last morsel of a snack but were willing to sacrifice all for the other at the slightest hint of perilousness
where we rendezvoused near abandoned houses and spent hours and even time stood still and listened to our banter.  


Now that I am home,
I feel like a stranger from another world.
Gone are the streets that knew me.
I feel in alone in a city full of unknown faces,
And the condescending neighbors with benevolent intentions
Are replaced by morose traders who will even peddle their souls.
Malls and concrete paths have replaced,
those narrow roads where we walked silently yet our minds spoke our dreams.
The home that has shut its door on me,
And the key is lost forever.
Pray take me far away from Home.

forgotten




Now that you are big and strong, graceful and accomplished, now that you're powerful enough to surround yourself with pursuers and admirers, sychopants and flatterers


Do you remember , those who gave you the strength to pick yourself up whenever you were down,

taught you how to hold your head high
when they were being amused by your tripping'?


Just like the water that helped the sapling grow to a tree,
     never feels entitled to its shade,

     the hand that fed your first morsel,
         will not stake a claim on your treasures,

     or the hand that saved you from falling when the baby feet           took the first steps,
         won't hold the trophies you win,

     or the one who lay staring at you waiting patiently for the first words to be spoken,
         may not be there to hear the standing ovation after  your powerful speech,

      or the words that edged you on, seeing
a spark in you when others gave up,
         won' t ask for an acknowledgement in you memoir

      or those minuscule but timely gifts
that helped you through times of destitute,
         won't be expecting a share in your worldly possessions.


And here you are standing at the pinnacle of success, with all those moments that forged your life, forgotten!

The trees they tell their stories

only if you know how to listen.

Close your eyes and feel as you

run your fingers along their withered bark.

Each wrinkle etched with musings of a weary traveler.

Of the exaggerated victories of an amateur warrior.

Of the sweet nothings of a resilient lover failing to impress

the village belle.

Feel the whispers from the rustling leaves,

as they sing their last song,

before they make way for another dwelling.

Like a fading opera singer

ending her act with a grand finale

to a standing ovation as the curtains fall.

Paper ***** flew around the classroom

masquerading  as a cricket ball

Hit as hard but managing to hardly go anywhere

The chaos in the class would soon end,

as the diminutive figure will walk in, book in one hand

Prying eyes trying to catch the laggards

shuffling back to their seat and

pretend to be very obedient and behaved lot.

The pinch, the hit on the arm with ruler, or the words

will bring about absolute silence,

masking the transient pain and shame,

that will soon followed by snickering comments and giggles

from those who escaped this time by their agility or luck.



The pencil boxes will soon start to play multiple roles,

like the actors in a play on a tight budget,

Transporting bits of papers with probable clues to the

questions put forth, the wrong answer to which,

could lead to repercussions of varying degree..

Like standing outside like a flagpole,

but failing to act as a deterrent to us incorrigible lot.



Lunch time will be  like an oasis in the day of claustrophobic pedantry  

where the darwinian principles will be set to test,

hands drawn towards the most delicious tiffin boxes,

the rightful owner of which will be lucky to even find a morsel

But however mundane and monochromatic sometimes those time may be

Looking back its was all worth it

when we could pick after 3 decades later where we all left off

and engage in hours of debating, leg-pulling, sarcasm, enlightenment

not withstanding the boundaries of time, space and temperament.

Its been by my side,

always there on my side,

when i needed it most.

But who can i blame but myself

if I strike a match I know

is not going to light

I strike many times along the side

only to bruise

and tear parts of it away

Making the match box lose its ability to light

even with a good match stick

cause it takes both to light a fire.

Next time you strike again and again

and try to light a spark

with someone

Make sure its not a damp match stick

‘cause it will only bruise more

the more you try to create that spark

Maybe its time to discard this damp stick

and try creating that fire

with a new one.

What if God decided like any other manufacturer 
to put a stamp on each of us and let us know our fate

Like the date the milk turns bad is no mystery
So will be the date a person will be history. 

Will you date a person with short shelf life
or even  make that person your wife?

And will you make most of a bond that you cherish
if you know for sure when its going to perish?

WIll you love one kid more than the other
if you know who is going farther?

And above all how will you live your life, if you already have a hint
   whether your time on earth is a marathon or a short sprint?